Failure to Communicate
by DarkCorona
Summary: When Lord Nuála has achieved her greatest victory, she and her captain still have to deal with their ruined love life. Spoilers the class-story of the sith-warrior
1. Quinn

The large corridor was silent and somewhat threatening. Dark grey walls were sparsely decorated with red and white banners. The carpet was the color of Lord Nuála's blood-red skin. The elevator shaft in front of them reminded of a black mouth that seemed to wait for their last few steps it would take to fall down and get swallowed by it alive. The tenuous light and the pressing heat of Korriban helped adjusting the gloomy atmosphere.

All in all, said atmosphere felt more than appropriate for his mood, Quinn decided.

Once he had felt rather impressed by facilities like this. He would have given his right arm to get a position at the citadel at Dromund Kaas. Stars, he would have killed his own mother to fly a star destroyer. His greatest dream had been to become a moff, and he had been close to fulfill this goal as one of the youngest officers ever.

So much had changed since then. Right now he couldn't wait to get back to the small Fury-class that was Nuála's ship. He longed for the "Nightmare", especially for the vessel's bridge. He found himself hoping that as soon as they got on board again, he could just slip into the captain's chair, get them as far away from here as possible, and everything could somehow just switch back to normal. Back to how it had been before he became a traitor. Back to when he had just been a man deeply in love with and devoted to the woman who had first become his superior and later his lover and wife.

He swallowed, giving his best to hide his uneasiness by straightening up and rearranging his hands once more behind his back. He clutched them so hard he dug his nails into his own flesh, but the familiar stiff position he stood in was kind of reassuring. He needed the little comfort he got out of this right now.

Like so many times before, his stinging conscience told him just how much he had underestimated Nuála. Baras had sounded so convincing, had lured him to believe that his wife really had no chance to stand against her former master. Baras had let it sound like he wouldn't even have bothered with her, had not her actions against him threatened his position at the Dark Council. With the Emperor nowhere around and the Empire close to another war against the Republic, who else if not Baras would be able to assume command? Who else would do what was required to drive the enemy away? Of course, the Darth fully understood Quinn's scruples, but surely a devoted servant of the Empire like the captain would not stand beside and watch this woman doom the future of the Dark Council? Surely he would understand under these conditions the necessity of his wife's death as a sacrifice for the welfare of their beloved Empire?

And finally, after hearing it over and over again, he had understood. Oh, yes, he had suffered deeply, but he had obeyed, like so many times before. After all, that was how he had been raised: to obey, to serve, to function properly under no matter what circumstances. His personal interests had to stand back once more for the good of the Empire. And so he had plotted against his lord, and had attempted to kill his spouse.

He had failed miserably.

A motion drew his attention back to the dark hallway and the delicate frame of Nuála, who stood right before him, staring down the hoistway in front of them. The zabrak seemed lost in deep thought and rolled her acing shoulders, the injuries of the most important fight of her life now taking their toll. Examining her carefully, Quinn detected one serious looking and several minor wounds, but didn't dare to touch her, let alone start his med droid or even give his lord a quick med scan. She had made more than clear at their arrival that she expected him not to interfere in any way as long as they were planet-site. Once more his role was to obey. So he did. He suspected that she had only wanted him around to witness her triumph over Darth Baras, to show him how very capable she was to destroy her arch-enemy, despite Quinn's doubts. He considered the fact that her own husband had had no faith in her skills had been as hard a blow to take for her as his treason itself.

And she had proofed him so wrong! She had not simply defeated Baras. No, she had crushed him under her boot like an insect, her face a cold mask of concentration during the whole fight. It had not been a mere duel to the death, it had been an annihilation.

Never before had he seen her as determined as today. He had known her as an angel of death, his powerful goddess of war. There had always been a lust for blood in her and a feral, deadly elegance during fights, sometimes even paired with a cruel playfulness that made him think of a manka-cat out on the hunt. It was her way of almost celebrating the death of a worthy opponent that left him standing in awe for her right from the beginning. As their relationship developed, he became accustomed to and indeed aroused by it when she tasted of blood and sweat, pulling him into a quick embrace for a swift but passionate, breathless kiss right after reveling in carnage.

Today she had been completely different, all stone-faced and calculating efficiency, focused only on her opponent, not missing a single one of his moves and leaving almost no openings in her guard.

Only once had she turned her eyes away from her enemy.

Baras had struck her thigh with his lightsaber. He had only brushed it since she got one of her own weapons down to block the worst of that maneuver, but the large sith still dealt her a wound that left her leg badly burnt. Quinn, all tensed up by the fight, had lost control then and gasped out loud before he found his composure again. She had glanced over to her captain and shown an unreadable expression, before she returned her gaze to her foe, all determined ice queen-facade again within an instant. After that it took her only a few more powerful blows to defeat her opponent. In the end, Baras had been begging for help from the other council members, since he had nothing left to put against her raw sovereignty. She finished him off by simply igniting one of her lightsabers right in front of his huge belly. For Nuála, he wasn't even worth one of her beloved Force-chokes.

Quinn had been so proud of her then, but all he could do was stand back in attention and wait for her while she spoke to the Council and received her praises. When she finally turned to leave she addressed him with a crisply "Captain", indicating him with a wave of her hand to follow her. He had wanted to congratulate her, fling his arms around her and hold her tight, see to her wounds, just do something. But this was not the right place to provoke her with any of this, and he found himself answering with a quick "My lord" and followed her out of the hall. These three words where their complete communication since they had left the orbital station.

So, here they stood, all alone, waiting for the elevator to arrive. Neither of them said a word.

Not that there had been much talking between the two of them lately. After that cursed day of his treachery, she had given him orders as usual, sometimes even turned to him for his tactical advice about their missions, but the only time she had spoken to him about anything personal had been right after their fight, when she had told him to sleep in the med bay until further notice. At least she had not instructed him to take his personal belongings out of her room and back to the crew quarters. The rest of their team just knew they had quarreled. He tried to draw hope out of that.

She had not killed him. She had not tortured him. She had not punished him, except for her short series of Force-chokes right after their fight. But neither had she talked to him about what she felt, what he was to do about regaining her love and trust, if there even was a chance she took him back, or if it all was just ruined now. When Darth Vowrawn had praised him for his efforts against the would-be assassin back on Corellia, she had seemed proud of him for an instant, but then had immediately made clear that Quinn still had to make up for his mistake. And so he tried, never knowing what she thought about him, how she felt about him or if she still wanted him in her life.

He stared at her back, musing.

If he reached out for her right now, would she slam him right into the next wall? Would she Force-choke him again? Or was she in fact waiting for him to make his move, unwilling to give in first? Did she want him to be bold? Did she want him to fight for their love? Did she care at all whether he was around her or not? If he asked her to get reassigned, would she have to chuckle and ask if he was trying to be an idiot again, or would she not even give a damn?

He could not think of anything he could say or do to show her how desperately he loved her. How relieved he was to still be a member of her crew. How glad he was she had defeated him and his droid-assassins. How willingly he would go through any punishment she chose if she could just forgive him.

There was nothing he could think of saying that would do the trick.

Quinn just stood there, cursing the elevator that just didn't come up, cursing his unsuccessful attempt to calculate her reactions, cursing himself at a loss of words, but most of all cursing the day he had failed her so completely. His grinding nails were almost drawing blood now. He tried to square his shoulders even more. Both could not keep him from thinking it all over again.

If only he had kept true to her, he would be praising her victory right now, showering her with compliments while she would chuckle and tell him to stop it right now with that half-smile of hers. She would be secretly holding his hand, since nobody could see them here. He would steal a kiss as they entered the lift, and back on the ship she would pull him with her into their quarters as soon as they returned to the "Nightmare". He would nuzzle her hair with his nose, whispering words of comfort in her ear while dressing her wounds, caressing her wounded flesh with his lips as long as the kolto needed to do its work. Finally, he would curl up with her to let her get the sleep she desperately needed after the strain of the fight…

But his hands still clung to each other behind his back unclaimed by hers and useless. His mouth kept shut with his excitement unspoken.

Maybe she would allow him to patch her up in the med bay before leaving him there. Maybe even that would not be granted to him and she would have Jaessa see to her injuries. Or Pierce, since the lieutenant fussed around her lately like a little puppy trying to get his masters attention.

He felt terrible.

But he suddenly realized he was not the only one.

Nuála looked like she felt uncomfortable, too, and it seemed to go beyond the physical pain from her wounds. He could see her fingers twitch, as if she tried to prevent herself from clenching and unclenching her fists like she so often did when she was strung up. Twice it looked like she was about to turn to him and say something, just to remain silent instead.

The elevator came up finally.

She entered it, then turned to face him while he followed her in. She still didn't say a single word, but her green eyes were dark with sorrow when her gaze met his, their red coronas emphasizing their expression of despair.

He was shocked.

It was the hour of her greatest triumph. She had proofed herself as the true Wrath of the Emperor and had claimed her right, hailed by the Dark Council, finally a Darth among her equals. Right now, she was probably the most deadly, most powerful woman of the entire galaxy, but yet she looked at him and all he could see was misery. In the tiny space of the descending lift she finally let her mask down and showed him all the pain she had concealed for those past long weeks. She took a long tormented breath. When she spoke, her voice soft and hoarse, he felt his heart skipping a beat.

"Malavai…"

It took him a single step to close the gaping abyss that had lain between them. His hand rose to her face, his fingertips gently pushing her chin up, while he dipped his face to hers to breathe a tender kiss to her lips. When she kissed him back, he pulled her close and locked her in his arms.

While all those words he had so desperately been searching for had left him speechless, she had found the single one she needed to tell him she was his again.


	2. Nuála

The large corridor was silent and somewhat threatening. Dark grey walls were sparsely decorated with red and white banners. The carpet was the color of Nuála's blood-red skin. The elevator shaft in front of them reminded of a black mouth that seemed to wait for their last few steps it would take to fall down and get swallowed by it alive. The tenuous light and the pressing heat of Korriban helped adjusting the gloomy atmosphere.

All in all, said atmosphere felt more than appropriate for her mood, Nuála decided.

Her husband stood just a few steps behind her. She knew he would be standing perfectly straight, his broad shoulders square and his hands neatly clad behind his back, all soldier as always. He had endured her whole battle against the traitorous Darth standing like that. Right now, she could softly hear his breathing, feel the steady beating of his heart, and she could sense all the feelings that tormented him right now, since the Force-bond between them was stronger than ever.

Malavai radiated concern, love, pride of her, but most of all despair. His inner tumult had grown during those last long weeks, and it was almost unbearable for her now to channel it into power. She knew she must end his torture soon; otherwise she would lose control over her darkest side and might end up insane.

There had been moments when she had reveled in the Force she drew from him, taking all his misery, making it her own and transforming it into raw, rampant strength, the power running through her like a wild river. She had savored her potency, and it had been hard to resist the cruel desire to make him suffer even more. He had been all she needed to raise her use of the Force to a level she had never dared to dream of reaching.

There had already been times she felt drained, alone and close to madness, though. She knew she had to make him go through this. She would not stand against Darth Baras if she allowed herself weaknesses. If she wanted to crush her former master she must do whatever it took to prevail. Even if it meant that she let Malavai be in anguish. In a time of such peril, he could be nothing more to her than a power source to rely upon. After all, this was the way of the sith.

She knew he believed she treated him like this because of his betrayal. It was the only logic explanation he could come to, and Malavai was a rational and logical thinker. How should he know that this had nothing to do with his plotting against her?

After all, she knew the true nature of that incident.

Her husband had been nothing but a puppet, and she was sure that Baras had been well aware that the captain had never had a chance to kill her. He could have ordered Quinn to just blow her ship up at any time, which would have been a sure kill. Instead he had instructed him to fight her face to face. Malavai had just been the pawn her enemy wanted to sacrifice. Baras had wanted her to live through the betrayal and suffer from it. He had wanted her weakened. He had wanted to draw power from her agony. He had not thought the relationship between his annoying apprentice run wild and her little boy toy deep enough to create such a bond between the two of them.

For all the Darth knew she had lured her captain into her bed just to enjoy a little carnal distraction now and then during her missions. Which was pretty much how it had started between Quinn and her.

She had met her captain back at Balmorra and found him quite attractive. Then, the way this brilliant brain and perfect soldier blushed crimson and lost his trail of thought every time she flirted with him had been just too much fun to stop it all after he joined her crew. He had proven himself to be a real challenge, quite unlike Pierce, who would go down on her right on a battlefield if she only allowed him to do so. When Jaessa had asked her permission to start her little "extra sparring" with the lieutenant, Nuála had granted it without second thoughts. Pierce was a good looking man, but he simply was too easy prey for her tastes. Quinn, on the other hand… It had been quite a hunt.

When her captain finally took all his courage and asked her to be reassigned, because he felt compromised by his longing for her, she pushed him so far he declared himself an idiot in the end and asked her permission to kiss her right there. He had been so adorable, pulling her into his embrace and kissing her passionately; she had not even tried to get him out of his pants then. Instead she had decided to wait for his next move.

Weeks after that day he had bluntly declared he would not suppress his desires any longer and had asked her if she would join him in his quarters. She had pulled him with her into hers instead. With the door locked behind them he had turned into a completely different man. "Captain Protocol" had been a hot blooded, passionate and competent lover. Nuála had been an experienced woman herself, and the two of them had pushed each other to their physical limits for the first time.

What had started as casual sex soon became regular. Eventually it turned into making love. By the time she allowed him to move his personal belongings to her quarters they had both been deeply, hopelessly in love with each other.

Which Baras had never expected. He had never considered that they had truly bonded that much. After all, it was not common for sith to allow themselves a weakness like this. He had considered Quinn important enough to her to cause her pain by his set-up. But he had underestimated the quality of their relationship. Baras had not even dreamed that Nuála would be able to sense Malavai's true feelings during his attack.

She had felt everything. The Force had screamed it out to her during their confrontation. She had felt his inner torture turn into her own wrath, fuelling her powers like nothing she ever felt before. And she had decided to use this, to play along, destroy his battle droids, deal her lover enough painful blows to make him surrender and even Force-choke him almost to death afterwards.

It had taken all her willpower to recover fast enough from what she did to him. But she had performed well and had sent him ahead to board the "Nightmare" without her. He had been two airlocks away before she had broken down and burst into tears.

Yes, he had betrayed her. Yes, he had tried to kill her. But she had felt how much he hated himself for doing so. And she had felt how much he hoped that she would just kill him before the droids took her down, so he would not have to live to see the Empire prosper without her by his side.

She knew she still loved him dearly, and hurting him like she did that day took its toll of her. But it was the price she would have to pay if she wanted all of them to get out of this feud alive.

Thinking of all this, she had lain curled up in a ball back there at the cursed A-class and had permitted herself this one moment of weakness, crying in heavy sobs like a child. Then she had scrambled up to her feet, leaning heavily on the cold dura steel wall of the corridor. When she finally stood straight again she had been completely calm and determined.

She would not allow Baras to succeed. She would not allow him to kill her husband or any other member of her crew, and, stars, she would not allow him to erase herself. She was the Wrath of the Emperor, and she would not allow that son of a bitch to achieve victory.

SHE WOULD NOT ALLOW IT.

If defeating him meant she would have to break Malavai's heart over and over again, she would do that.

And so she had done.

He had been the perfect soldier again when she entered her ship and told him she didn't want to sleep in the same bed with him anymore. He had stood to attention before her, his jaw clenched, his hands folded behind his back and his eyes fixed at a point at the wall behind her when he silently nodded his agreement. Only the Force had betrayed his misery.

She had turned from him, yelled for Jaessa to come join her in sparring and had beaten the hell out of her apprentice. Afterwards she had done the same with Broonmark and Pierce. None of them complained. They knew something had happened between their lord and their captain, but none of them dared to ask what. She did not intend to ever tell them.

She had taken Pierce planet-side when they arrived at Corellia. She knew it would drive Malavai mad to be left behind while she roamed the streets with the other man. She also knew that Malavai suspected Pierce to have a crush on his lord. She made sure he heard her saucy remark about Pierce's fitness when she led the lieutenant towards the airlock.

For the next few weeks she had teased him in every possible way.

When the two of them finally arrived at Korriban his heartache was beyond endurance. And still he clung to her side, eager to go with her, even if she didn't allow him to help her in any way.

She had never loathed herself more than this day.

She had never drawn more power from him than this day, either. Her fight against the traitor had been a triumph. She had gloried in the arts of war, dancing her deadly dance with her lightsabers like it was nothing to her. She had relished the feeling of absolute power, and when she had thought that nothing could make this revenge sweeter she had performed her last nasty trick on her husband. She willfully had caught a blow. Malavai had gasped. She had sensed the pure terror of his fear for her. She had allowed herself to take a quick glance at him. She had sucked in the impression of his tortured face. Then she had brought down her prey.

The whole Dark Council had accepted her superiority over Baras. None of them had come to his aid when he begged them. None of them intervened when she finished him off.

She had won.

It was over. Baras was dead. The Empire was safe from his venomous schemes. The Wrath of the Emperor had proven herself. The whole Dark Council had hailed her, and they had declared her a Darth herself.

So here she stood, victorious and at the prime of her career, and felt disastrous.

With Malavai so close to her she suddenly felt the full impact of what she had done to him.

She knew she should release him from his torture right now. She could not. She felt so much power, and it was so easy to keep this up. The craving for more was almost unbearable. She fought hard not to turn to him and shoot him an evil remark, just to feel another wave of his agony bleed into her, nourishing her with purest power.

Standing in that gloomy hallway, Nuála realized that she was about to pass the point of no return. If she went on like this any longer, there would never be a chance for her former life again. She would gain power beyond her imagination, but she would pay for it with all she held dear.

She wanted this.

She loathed this.

She suddenly knew she must not act like this. If she did not stop right now she would become another Baras.

She tried to turn to her husband, to fix this mess she had driven them into. 'Tell him', she screamed silently at herself, 'say you love him, say you want him, say you will not do this to him anymore.' It was impossible.

The elevator ascended.

She stepped inside.

She turned around.

There he was; handsome, brilliant, devoted, and right in front of her. She took in his sight. Then she took in the sight of his Force-aura. He ached for her, more than ever before. How could this be so hard? She knew what she had to do, and yet…

She took a deep painful breath. Then she forced herself to speak.

"Malavai…"

His aura exploded. Love, happiness, gratitude, relief, it all washed over her in an instant.

When he stepped close to her, she already felt his feelings soothe her battered soul. When she let him kiss her for the first time in weeks, she knew two things for sure.

Everything would turn out all right for them.

And she would never tell him what she'd really done to him.


End file.
